


One Last Look of Grief

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, First Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 11:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3726848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor by the shore as he left his life behind. Companion piece of Born of Fire. Also declined, and on  hindsight I think this is better off as merely a snippet/portfolio piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Look of Grief

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Emptiness was something Maglor had gradually become more used to over the endless years, the endless years he had suffered and worked through, one heartbeat at a time. Maglor, mighty singer amongst the Eldar, known and renowned for his voice that had once been heard during the bliss of Aman. Bliss was something Maglor felt he would never feel again.

Maglor did not want to feel anything.

The cursed jewel that glinted in his hands drove him to the point of maddening pain and insanity. So much pain and needless slaughter: Just because of three damned jewels. An evil, concealed by the brightest and purest of lights that existed, an evil that would not go away.

Flashes of his life taunted him like sleepless _fëa_ from abroad.

Amrod and Amras, alike in mood and more so in face. Celegorm the fair and Caranthir the dark. Curufin, closest in hand to their father and Maedhros the tall.

Gone, all of them were gone, passed to the edges of Arda Comprehensible into the Everlasting Darkness. Withered, faded, ashes and dust. All that he had known and believed in had wasted way, ebbed beyond the confines of the world. What lay behind the darkness? Maglor did not know.

Fëanor.  
  
His father: Creator and _ada._ Who was Maglor to question his intentions? As with all the rest, Maglor had done what had been expected from him: he had taken the Oath.

_To what end, adar? And for what price?_

Kinslaying, murdering, ravaging and scavenging. Wrecking and burning as they went, rebels and outcasts, the Seven Sons of Feanor. Maglor had been one of them. Pathetic and beyond reason, clouded in all their intentions and blinded by their greed, hate, stubbornness and short-sightedness. Rampages and killings fuelled by naught but raw passion and the urge to lay claim to what was theirs. What they _claimed_ was theirs.

_Who can lay claim to the Light?_

They had defied, they played the deviant, Exiles from Aman forever.

Existence.

What use was existence to him now? Maglor felt the need to weep and loose himself from the grip of Arda. _Why?_

__he cried, _Why?_ What had driven him and his kin to do the unmentionable? To kill, kin versus kin, to pillage, taking what was not theirs, to hack and to burn? Crazed delusions, nothing but crazed delusions. Demented thoughts and erring visions. Maglor did not know, could not begin to understand and Maglor no longer cared. How could he, when he had seen before his naked eyes the body, the shell of what had once been his brother, Maedhros and no less, eldest and wisest, hurl itself into a fiery chasm bottomless?

_Or maybe not so wise._

Father and sons. They who had doubted words that were wiser, beings that were higher. Now came sorrow, and all that Maglor felt was sorrow. Voids of Nothingness sounded cheerful in drastic comparison. Emptiness, devoid of emotion, hardened and cold. Pitiless. Merciless. Barbaric.

_Ai Elbereth, ai Elbereth!_

Why now do you sing to the Lady, Maglor? Why bother to put your voice to use, to forever be melded with the crashing of the waves? Why turn your gaze across an ocean you were fated never to cross?

_Gilthoniel, a Elbereth!_

The spark faded into the eternal waters as Maglor turned away to face forever.

_Silivern penna míriel!_


End file.
